


Hand-to-Hand Flirting

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, I tag this because Demona is still a Smol, I'm pretending that I know how to write Hand-to-Hand Fighting, Martial Arts as Flirting, Ord Mantell-era, Pre-Relationship, Rookie!Female Republic Trooper, a kickass Smol but a Smol nonetheless, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:26:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7083256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time Aric let Demona kick his ass. Featuring Aric as Lieutenant Grumpy-Pants, and Demona as Sergeant Smol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand-to-Hand Flirting

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely _not_ apologizing for the beautifully terrible pun that is the title.

Despite the late night spent cleaning up the aftermath of the mission, Demona awoke bright and early, and dressed in a generic grey workout shirt and yoga pants in the colours of Havoc Squad: white and orange. She grabbed a thermos of peppermint tea and a few energy bars from the canteen, and then headed down to the training gym, to brush up on her hand-to-hand.

Demona had expected everyone to be at breakfast, giving her the gym to herself. What she hadn't expected was to find Lieutenant Aric Jorgan wailing on a canvas punching bag like it had taken advantage of his little sister. 

He was dressed like she was, only with black sweatpants. Pants that did absolutely nothing to subtract from the sheer intimidating nature of those pointed green eyes with their sharp pupils, that feral growl that resonated behind every strike, the way his ginger fur shone gold with moisture- 

_ Oh hell. _

Careful to make as little noise as possible, Demona set her gym bag in a corner, hauled up another punching bag, and brought out a tiny earpiece. She nestled it in her ear and gently pressed the button on the outside. Music began to play, and she warmed up with gradually rising beat. 

_ Left hook, right swing, left upper cut. Dodge left, dodge right, knee to the stomach. Spin with the imaginary punch to avoid it, use the momentum to  _ **_slam_ ** _ into the bag- just like that, D, you're doing great, -  _

Demona lost herself in the music and the beating of her fists against the bag. The song went by, followed by a second, a third, a fourth. By twenty minutes, her heart was racing and she was lightly coated in sweat. 

After the sixth song faded out, Demona paused her playlist and took three gulps of water. She was just bending down to put her water bottle back in her gym bag when she was tapped on the right shoulder. She swung around, left uppercut at the ready, only to have her left fist caught in a large, warm hand. The portions of her fingers not shielded with fabric brushed velvet fur, and Demona could feel her cheeks heat up. Lieutenant Jorgan raised an eyebrow at her, and her face flushed so hot, she was sure that she was on the warmer side of violet. She was very much regretting the lack of her helmet, since it would've hid her face and perhaps filtering the glare through the viewer would dial it down from piercing to simply intense.

“A-a-apologies, sir,” Demona stuttered, before clearing her throat. “Is there something you need from me, sir?”

Lieutenant Jorgan released her hand, a flicker of…  _ something  _ in his green eyes. “Apology accepted, Sergeant,” he teased her lightly. “I thought we could spar together, seeing as we are the only ones here at the moment.”

She let herself smile widely. “Sounds good to me, sir,” she agreed, taking her earpiece out and dropping it in her bag. They left their respective punching bags to step onto the blue mat in the centre of the room. Demona took a deep breath as she settled into her stance, balanced to be equally offensive and defensive, and Jorgan assumed a defensive stance.  _ It's a test, then, _ she thought, before taking a feint at Jorgan's left eye, while pivoting to block a punch to her right side. The strike didn't shake her badly, and so Demona suspected that Jorgan was pulling his punches for her. She dropped into a crouch, shifting her weight to an arm to hold her up and sweeping her legs at Jorgan. She made him stumble, but he didn't fall. Jorgan took advantage of her position to land a hard strike to her calf, throwing her almost completely off balance. Demona pushed herself back up, just in time to roll with Jorgan’s next strike, this time toward her face. She turned, gathering the momentum to slam her fist against his collarbone, enough to wind him and send him flat on his back. 

Demona shook out her hand- that was sure to bruise a lovely shade of green later -and restrained her smile at the sight of Lieutenant Jorgan sprawled out on the sparring mat. He propped himself up on his elbow, and he chuckled. “Plenty of raw talent. No wonder you aced Tactical Assault. Not impressive,” he said pointedly, “But better than I'd thought you'd be.” 

Demona replied neutrally with a “Yes, sir,” but the smile she was hiding made her eyebrows arch upward with faint astonishment and amusement. Words of compliment from Lieutenant Aric Jorgan? Either there was some kind of drug in her tea this morning, or this was going to be a very good day. 


End file.
